Julia's End
by Thought Monger
Summary: What ever happened to Julia in the dread Ministry of Love. Read of her tragic encounter, and how the Ministtry crushed her soul.


Julia's End  
  
Julia paced the cell quietly, the pitter patter of her footsteps echoed loudly in the quiet fall.  
  
"No standing up in the cells" the telescreen blared.  
  
She immediately stopped and sat down, a cold feeling shivered down her spine, as she remembered the last time she had disobeyed that voice. Dismally she nursed her broken elbow, the pain continued to radiate unbearably. She tried to think about how many hours go she had been brought here, but time does not exist in a place such as this. Time of day or night was irrelevant, there was no knowing in this place of perpetual light, for it was never dark. Darkness stifles vision, and someone was always watching you here.  
  
The throb in her elbow began to grow steadily, she needed a distraction. She tried to count the bricks on the wall, but here eyes watered so badly she couldn't make out the individual stones. Was that four or five bricks, her vision danced. She steadied herself, shaking, but began to cry uncontrollably.  
  
"No crying in the cells", a telescreen blared loudly, but she could not help it, the tears pour forth wildly.  
  
Sobs wracked her body, through her misery she managed to hear the telescreen again.  
  
"No crying in the cells" The cold voice held no emotion, no one cared.  
  
Desperately she threw herself against the telescreen. She beat at it with every part of her body, her arms legs, nails, even with her teeth she sought to break the wretched machine. Again and again she hurled herself against the smooth glass surface. Soon the guards came in and dragged her off of it. Their truncheons and boots assailed her body. She rolled around in the tattered remains of her clothing, she screamed in pain. Again and again the blows rained down everywhere- her elbows, legs, chest, face, nothing was spared the pain. She began to cough blood, and slowly the blows receded. She noticed one of her teeth was lying in a puddle of blood on the floor. She tried to get up, but her shoes were wet with her own blood, and she fell painfully on her side. She struggled for breath, it seemed that for hours she fought against the tides of darkness threatening to engross her body. Fevered memories danced in her vision. Her and Winston the first time they had met, and the bird that had sung for them. She remembered them rolling playfully in the leaves, not just enjoying the pleasure of each other's bodies, but the rebelliousness of the action. But all that time they had been watched, none of it meant anything anymore. She thought that she had been fighting the party every time she and Winston had met, that she had escaped their gaze and was carrying out their forbidden acts. But they had watched it all, and allowed it to pass, like the cat playing with the mouse, the predeceased. Winston's words echoed in her mind  
  
"We are the dead".  
  
There was nothing she could do anymore. She began to sob wretchedly again, lying in her own blood, still warm.  
  
How many hours it had been since she had fallen asleep? She could not recount. She tried again to rise, but her body refused to move. She had no strength left, no will for life, she was dead already. She couldn't find the fuel within her to rise, she knew very well that just as the body needs food, the soul needs companionship, and they had taken Winston. Possibly killed him. No! No, they couldn't take Winston from her, she may testify against him, she knew she would, and already had. But they could never make him stop loving her, or her him. They couldn't kill Winston until they killed her too, and she wouldn't let them take her, Winston would be her strength. She drew on all her memories of Winston, slowly she began to rise. She gripped the bars of the cell for support. The telescreen blared something at her, but she couldn't here. She stood now at her full height, the voice on the telescreen continued to scream at her, but didn't care. She heard booted footsteps echo down the hallway towards her, but it didn't matter.  
  
"You'll never kill him!" she screamed "He'll never stop loving me, you can't stop him from loving me. He's with me now."  
  
Her voice screamed threateningly. She heard a key scraping into the lock in her sell, the guards were here again. She held onto Winston, she felt his presence, his body was close to hers, she felt it's gracefulness and beauty, she remembered the veins that stood out on his body because of his ulcer. She felt the first blow fall, and her body with it, but she ignored the pain and held onto every shred of memory in her body. Her vision dimmed and she felt herself fading.  
  
"I'm coming Winston." she mumbled, but the tendrils of darkness embraced her.  
  
A loud clang woke Julia as she lay in the cell. Blood caked her face like a mask, her clothes were in tatters about her. She cringed as booted feet walked into her cell, her body waited for the blow to land, but it didn't come. Soft hands lifted her up, she recognized the face before her.  
  
"O'Brien? Did they find you." Her voice trailed off.  
  
Before her stood O'Brien, her closest ally next to Winston. Julia could not recall if during her painful session s she had cried his name as a sacrifice to save herself.  
  
"I'm sorry" she said, "I must have."  
  
"No." O'Brien's voice was cold. A chilling realization crept over her.  
  
"You bastard, you sold us out, I'll kill you!"  
  
She threw herself desperately at him, she clawed at his face, kicked at him but he held her fast. He motioned to the guard outside the cell, who quickly walked in and plunged a syringe into her arm. Immediately she felt drowsy, she groped at O'Brien for balance, but missed and fell to a heap on the floor.  
  
Julia woke to a blinding light, everything was a dazzling white, she sat in a chair. She tried to turn her head, to close her eyes but she was held fast, she could not help herself. Directly in front of her was a telescreen, however the telescreen showed no picture.  
  
"Do you know where you are?" O'Brien voice pierced the silence. Julia did not answer, it didn't matter to her. "You are in room 101"  
  
A chill ran down her spine, she had heard of this place. Prisoners here whispered of it's rumours, wild speculations grew as to what this room contained.  
  
"You know what's in here don't you" O'Brien's voice mocked, guessing at her thoughts.  
  
Deep down she knew what was coming. It wouldn't just be her death, but something deeper die today, she could almost feel her spirit breaking. O'Brien sighed sadly and shook his head.  
  
"Silence will not save you from what is coming, and from that nothing can save you, not even your beloved Winston" As he spoke the telescreen flickered to life.  
  
She saw Winston standing naked before a mirror, but this was not the Winston she knew. This Winston was broken and twisted, it's face was covered in bruises, it's spine was curled grotesquely, the life extinguished from it's eyes. All that remained for it's mouth was a bloody mass, with only a few teeth, all the muscle and fat was gone from this hunger gnawed body. She gasped at this abomination, she struggled for breath as she saw it collapse in tears. The worst part however were its cries, it's piteous tormented moans, like a damned soul howling in it's torture. She tried to turn her head, to close her eyes but she was paralyzed on the spot, all she could do was wait and watch.  
  
"Room 101 holds the worst thing in the world. Everybody has a mortal fear of something, and yours, we know, is losing Winston. The Winston you know is dead, all that is left is a shell, his love for you is gone. What reason have you then to carry on?"  
  
At length Julia spoke, "You lie. Winston will never stop loving me, and as long as he loves me he cannot die, he is immortal in my memory. How can he be gone as long as I can feel his loving touch on body? There is no way you can take that love from me, that is why I carry on. Every breath take is done so in defiance, every beat my heart pumps testifies against your power, for me the very act of living or dying is a victory against you."  
  
O'Brien's eye twinkled with a pitying look.  
  
"But you are wrong Julia, Big Brother can do anything, we have ability to break anyone in anyway we wish. And now, it is your turn."  
  
Julia twisted in her chair, but she could not budge, she was helpless against the dread that had reached it's climax in her bosom. The telescreen flickered, and she saw the same room and chair that she was in now, but Winston was sitting in the chair. What were they doing to him? Something was being attached to his face, a mask. A dreadful squealing sound emanated from the cage, rats. Winston twisted in writhed, but was held tight to the chair. He screamed and wriggled as a metal clang sounded, she could see the rats were being released into Winston's face. Julia could feel what was coming, she knew it would break her forever, it was inevitable. Winston screamed.  
  
"Do it to Julia! Do it to Julia! Not me! Julia! I don't care what you do to her. Tear off her face, strip her to the bones. Not me! Julia! Not me!"  
  
Julia's head spun, Winston had betrayed her too. The world was collapsing around her, there was nothing left. She was alone, without Winston, without anyone to hold her, or for her to hold onto. Her very being had just been ripped asunder, her deepest foundation had collapsed with those words  
  
"Not me! Julia! I don't care what you do to her".  
  
Her body fell limp, there was nothing left to live for. Her right to die was gone, her right to love was stripped away. The iron voice from the telescreen blared one last time in her ears.  
  
"You are the dead"  
  
- - - - - - - - - -  
  
A lone prole walked quickly through the back alley of the Ministry of Love. He shivered uncomfortably, no proles ever came here unless they had to, but it would take hours to cut around this large block. A large ventilation shaft blew hot air on his face as he hurried along. He had heard of these shafts, memory holes people called them. A piece of paper wafted out unexpectedly from the shaft. Curiously the prole picked it up. It was a beautiful creamy paper, one you could only find in antique stores, it appeared to be part of a diary, a quill pen nib must have made the markings he saw. He read.  
  
"If there is hope, it lies in the proles. Until they become conscious they will never rebel, and until after they have rebelled they cannot become conscious."  
  
The rest was burnt off, and indecipherable. The youth thought about this momentarily. This page had planted a seed of consciousness in his mind. He tucked the page into his vest pocket, and continued down the alley. A whole new level of awareness had sprung up in his mind. Something was expected of him, he was the way of the future, but he couldn't understand why, perhaps he never would. The cold wind made him shiver and he hurried back home. He pondered the words. Why should he rebel? He was happy with life, and he had no need change that. Unwittingly this youth held the fate of the world in his hands. This page had the power to wrench the world from the hands of the party, and restore human free will. Salvation was placed in the hands of mankind.  
  
The youth stared at the paper a moment. This wasn't his problem, he had no responsibility for the doom of the world. As he passed by a memory hole he dropped the paper in as if by instinct. Like a leaf in a bonfire the paper was vapourized in the blaze. It had never existed. Neither had its writer. As the youth continued down the alley a pair of eyes watched him retreat. The stoic face of Big Brother gazed down the alley as if guarding the knowledge of the paper, which by now was reduced ash, it's eyes forever relayed an undying message  
  
"Big Brother is watching you" 


End file.
